Echoes.

A breath | A breath And a sigh,—| And a sigh,— How we fly | How we fly From Death! | From Death!— A palm | Sing on Warm pressed, | O our bird! As we guessed | Thou art heard Love's psalm. | Alone. A word | We know Breathed close, | No life, And then rose | Neither strife, The bird | Nor woe, That cowers | Nor aught In the wood | But this hour,— 'Mid a flood | Love's dower Of flowers, | Dear bought.— Till Love's | Death's voice Heart sighs, | Is away, Like the cries | And we may Of doves,—| Rejoice. Then sings | The bird His song, | Of our song Beating strong | May be long White wings,—| Unheard, Heart clear | But, Dear, Though faint, | Bend low; Like a saint | It is now In prayer.—| We hear. He reigns | Dear Heart In power, | Your kiss!— And Love's hour | After this Disdains. | We part. Forget | A breath For a day | And a sigh,— All his sway, | How we fly Life's fret. | From Death!